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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018106">By Firelight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoraClavia/pseuds/CoraClavia'>CoraClavia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Voyager</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Maquis Chakotay, jc - Freeform, of course there is, some DS9 cameos, there's a shuttle crash, unlikely friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:54:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoraClavia/pseuds/CoraClavia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Janeway, Chakotay, and a shuttle crash; or, how to start as enemies, but end up something very different.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chakotay &amp; Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>203</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many, many thanks to the charming mylittleredgirl, who is a truly fantastic beta.</p><p>AU: Kathryn did capture the Maquis, taking Chakotay and his crew prisoner. </p><p>Just for the record: this shuttle crash isn’t Chakotay’s fault.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kathryn wakes up and immediately regrets it.</p><p>She <em> hurts</em>.</p><p>It takes a moment to process everything. She’s on her back, looking up at a stone ceiling. Her right knee aches. Her right ankle throbs. And her chest <em> burns</em>, a searing, sharp pain that radiates through her torso every time she breathes. </p><p>What happened? Her mind is still playing catch-up, and so far, it’s just fractured images. She was in a shuttle. Kenning was flying. Their prisoner was secured in the back. It was a quick recon mission to investigate reported Maquis camps.</p><p>She remembers the rattle of atmospheric turbulence, warnings blaring, bracing for impact</p><p>It hurts too much to sit up, so she just breathes through the pain, as slow and careful as possible, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She can hear wind whistling outside, the spatter of raindrops on the rocks. </p><p>She needs to make a plan. She needs to figure something out. She has to—</p><p>Through the rain, she suddenly hears the crunching of footsteps outside the mouth of the cave, and her heart ratchets up in her chest. </p><p>A moment later, there’s a figure outside the cave. But instead of the clean lines of a Starfleet uniform, she sees a rumpled woven shirt. An oversized jacket. Worn boots.</p><p>“Captain?”</p><p>He walks inside, and she can see, clear as day, that it’s her prisoner. Chakotay. Walking around, free and easy.</p><p>Holding a phaser.</p><p>“You’re awake.” He kneels beside her, and she has to stop herself from flinching. “What do you remember?”</p><p>She takes as deep a breath as she can, grimacing at the pain in her ribs. “Crash. We crashed, right?” He nods. “Where’s Lieutenant Kenning?”</p><p>“The pilot? I’m sorry, Captain. He died in the crash.”</p><p>So that’s it. This diversion to search for a Maquis outpost was only supposed to take an extra day. And no one is expecting them to rendezvous in the next system for at least twenty-four hours, possibly more. </p><p>It’s just her and her prisoner now.</p><p>She looks around. “Where are we?”</p><p>“A cave. We crashed out on the mountainside.”</p><p>“How’d I get here?”</p><p>“I pulled you out.”</p><p>“Oh.” She licks her lips, trying to figure out what’s going on. He’s still holding a phaser. She’s unarmed. “Am I your prisoner now?”</p><p>He blinks at her for a moment, like he doesn’t understand the question, and then—she could swear his mouth quirks up at the corners, like he’s amused. “Prisoner? No.”</p>
<hr/><p>She’s in pain.</p><p>She doesn’t say it. She’s not complaining or groaning. But he catches the slight wince when she tries to move. And her face is pale, the sickly kind of pale he knows is bad news.</p><p>He remembers how much blood had pooled around her when he grabbed her limp body and hauled her out of the shuttle.</p><p>He decides to offer an olive branch. “You’re hurt.”</p><p>That earns a grim sort of almost-smile. “I agree.”</p><p>“I need to take a look.” He reaches for her jacket, but pauses. “Is that okay?”</p><p>“You know what you’re doing?”</p><p>“More or less.” She’s eyeing him warily, and he sighs. “Look, Captain. We may not be the most likely allies, but right now I’m your only option.”</p><p>It might have been a little too blunt, but she seems to take it in stride. She nods, and he folds back the sides of her jacket, tugging her bloody grey tank free and rolling it up. Sure enough, the pale, smooth skin of her abdomen is a mess of sticky blood and livid bruising. </p><p>“Does this hurt?”</p><p>He sets one hand very gently on her abdomen, avoiding the worst of the bruises, and applies the very lightest pressure he can. Even with this light touch, he can feel something give under her skin, something shifting that he’s pretty sure shouldn’t be. She sucks in a sharp breath; he sees her fists clench.</p><p>“A little.”</p><p>A <em> little. </em> </p><p>Chakotay sits back on his heels, fixing her with a stern look. “Captain, this is going to work better for both of us if you just tell me the truth.”</p><p>For a long moment she looks like she’s going to argue, but maybe she realizes there’s just no point, and she lets out a breath. “It hurts a lot.”</p><p>“Thank you.” <em> Stubborn woman</em>. </p><p>He flattens his palm on her abdomen again, careful to avoid putting any more pressure on her than necessary. “I can’t tell for sure, but it feels like you’ve got some ribs damaged.”</p><p>The fabric is stiff and heavy, so soaked through with blood that he can hardly see any grey left. He pushes her shirt and tank up further, just under the swell of her chest, and he sees it: singed edges on the fabric, and an open wound that’s still oozing blood.</p><p>His stomach drops. </p><p>Maquis learn very quickly how to compartmentalize, to work under pressure, and it’s not like they’re used to having lots of resources. He’s seen plenty of injuries, done plenty of field medical work. </p><p>He may not be a doctor, but he knows: this is bad. </p><p>“I need to stop the bleeding,” he tells her distractedly, looking around at his options. There aren’t any. “I’m going to go check the wreckage, okay? Maybe some of the medkit survived. Here.”</p><p>He rolls her shirt and tank top back down, then takes her pale hands and presses them to the wound on her chest; she grimaces, but nods, keeping pressure on it. </p><p>“I’ll be quick,” he promises, and runs back out into the rain.</p>
<hr/><p>By the time he gets back, she’s lost more color, but she’s still conscious. </p><p>He moves her sticky, red-stained hands off her stomach, and immediately the blood wells up again. Damn. </p><p>“The regenerator’s not functioning,” he tells her as he peels the bloody fabric off her skin, “so this is going to be a little low-tech.”</p><p>“Wonderful.” </p><p>“I’ve got bandages. And a little bit of clotting polymer. Not much, but it’ll have to do.”</p><p>“Any anesthetic?”</p><p>He hates the fact that he has to answer this. “No. I’m sorry, believe me, I looked.”</p><p>“All right.” She swallows hard, and he sees the flash of fear in her eyes before she can lock down her expression to something more stoic. “Well, no other way.”</p><p>Her bloody turtleneck is already ragged, so it’s not hard to rip it up the center and peel it apart. </p><p>It’s going to hurt. They both know it. Pressure is needed to stop bleeding, and her ribs are damaged. The best thing he can do is work quickly and hope she doesn’t go into shock.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>She nods, and he can see her take a breath. “Do it.”</p><p>He rips a strip of fabric off the bottom of his own shirt—it’s clean enough—and dabs carefully at her abdomen, doing his best to wipe away the blood. It’s not so bad. Until he gets closer to the open wound, anyway. He can see her tense up, even as he feels a pattern of ribs under her skin that feels wrong.</p><p>She grits her teeth, clenches her fists, turns her head, but she can’t quite muffle the cry of pain as he presses down on the bleeding wound in her chest.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll be quick.”</p><p>She doesn’t say anything; he can see her teeth digging into her bottom lip as he hurriedly cleans the wound as best he can and reaches for the clotting polymer.</p><p>He can see her eyelashes fluttering dizzily. <em> Say something. Take her mind off it</em>. “So, uh, do you—have a family? Someone back home?”</p><p>She swallows thickly, wincing as his fingers press inadvertently on her bruised stomach. “Uh—yes. Fiancé.”</p><p>“Ah.” She’s talking. That’s a good sign. “What’s his name?”</p><p>It takes her a few seconds to get the name out. “Mark.”</p><p>By the time he presses the edges of the bandage down and feels them adhere to her bruised skin, she’s trembling under his hands, her face ashen, tears streaming down her cheeks.</p><p>“Captain?” She’s still shaking. He cups her cheek with one hand, turning her face towards his. “I’m done, I promise. I’m sorry. I know it hurt.”</p><p>She moans, low and pained, and finally he sees her eyes focus on him again as she takes slow breaths. There’s blood on her lip, and he realizes, with a start—that’s how hard she was biting it.</p><p>“You still with me?”</p><p>“Yes.” Her voice is shaky; she swallows before speaking again. “Still here.”</p><p>“Good.” Chakotay lets himself brush his fingertips over the line of her cheek before pulling back. “You should rest, okay? I’m going to go look for something to build a fire.” </p><p>She nods weakly. She still looks wiped out, and the air is chilly around them, so after a moment’s deliberation, Chakotay pulls off his jacket and lays it carefully over her. “I’ll be back soon. Call if you need something.”</p><p>“All right.” Her eyes flutter. </p><p>He finds some wood that’s only a little damp; if he can keep it out of the misty rain, it might dry out enough to burn. So he loads up as much as he can carry and climbs back up to their little cave.</p><p>She’s fallen into an exhausted sleep, so he goes back for another armful, then a third. Might as well.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Kathryn wakes up this time, her whole body still hurts, although the pain in her chest has faded from ‘abject agony’ to ‘painful’, and her prisoner is setting out an armful of sticks and twigs against the cave wall.</p><p>If she’s being honest with herself, she’s surprised he’s still here. How easy would it have been for him to run away already? Hell, he could <em>walk</em> away and she couldn’t chase him. </p><p>She knows his record. He was respected in Starfleet, and his resignation was a blow to them. Right now the rest of his crew is in custody, and she knew from the beginning that his willingness to join this little side mission was an attempt to build good will that he could use to protect his crew later. He’s intelligent, thoroughly principled, a protective leader, strongly loyal to whatever he believes is right. </p><p>But then, she’s the enemy right now, isn’t she?</p><p>She doesn’t know how to read him.</p><p>She pushes up on one elbow experimentally. Still painful, and she can feel something shifting in her abdomen that definitely shouldn’t be shifting, so she stops before the pain gets too sharp. <em>All right. Don’t move like that</em>. </p><p>He must hear her movement; he immediately turns, dropping the wood in his arms, and crosses the cave, kneeling beside her as he wipes his hands on his trousers. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“A little better.”</p><p>“Good.” He feels her throat for her pulse, nodding absently as he finds it, brushing a hand over her forehead, then leaning in and peering into her eyes to check her pupils. His movements are brisk, matter-of-fact, and there’s nothing threatening—his face is calm, and he’s very clearly checking on her well-being—but it still sets her a little on edge. She’s not accustomed to letting a subordinate run the show, let alone a prisoner who’s hypothetically still in her custody. </p><p>Whatever he observes must satisfy him, because he sits back on his heels. “You still have your combadge? I can put the beacon up on the top of the cliff. It might get better range up there.”</p><p>She nods, plucking the badge off her jacket. She has every intention of doing it herself, but she’s still shaky; her hands can’t quite keep hold of it, and seconds later the little badge clatters to the stone floor beside her. </p><p>He takes it and pries it apart, pulling out the tiny filament and picking carefully at the miniscule circuitry inside.</p><p>“You know what you’re doing, right?” she asks warily, and Chakotay pauses, looking back at her.</p><p>“Of course I do. I was in Starfleet, remember?”</p><p>“Right.” It’s strange to think they went to the same academy. She’s seen images of him in uniform, but somehow it still doesn’t square with the man she’s looking at.</p><p>“Lesson number one in survival training: how to call for help.”</p><p>“Survival training.” She lets out a short laugh. “The course we all hoped we wouldn’t need.”</p><p>He smiles at that, and through the haze of pain radiating through her body, she can’t help noticing that this tough, reserved, flinty Maquis commander has <em>dimples</em>.</p><p>She doesn’t remember reading that in his file.</p><hr/><p>After climbing out to put the homing beacon on the mountaintop—it has a better chance of transmission at a higher altitude—Chakotay returns and starts stacking the driest pieces of wood to build a fire. He’s brought in a few large flat stones, she can see. Smart. Those hold heat well.</p><p>Kathryn’s exhausted, and her entire body still hurts, but her mind is whirling. </p><p>She’s still trying to figure it all out.</p><p>Starfleet intelligence has shown that Chakotay has gone out of his way to avoid collateral damage since joining the Maquis, and Tuvok’s reports reveal him as a strong leader who doesn’t shy away from using violence when necessary—he’s done some real damage to the Cardassians—but he’s also compassionate towards those who need his help.</p><p>So maybe that’s it: he’s doing the right thing, making sure she’s stable and relatively comfortable before he runs off. That would make sense. And it’s a good sign. Because he’s the one who activated the homing beacon, and she didn’t dare ask—there’d be no use, since she can’t do anything about it—but there’s a pretty solid chance he calibrated it to a Maquis frequency. If he’s feeling generous, he’ll wait for his own escape, then re-calibrate the beacon to a Starfleet frequency and leave her to wait it out and hope for the best.</p><p>It suddenly occurs to her that if he <em>doesn’t</em> abandon her, she might soon find out what a Maquis ship is like, firsthand.</p><p>Despite the pain, she suddenly feels very, very cold. Because all her stubbornness, all the flinty determination she can muster, doesn’t change the fact that her life is in this man’s hands. He’s entirely in control. A Starfleet captain would be a valuable hostage.</p><p>And not every Maquis would treat a Starfleet captain as well as he’s treated her so far.</p><p>“I’m going to use the phaser, all right?”</p><p>Kathryn freezes. “For what?”</p><p>“To get the fire started.” Chakotay gives her a little half-smile. “I’ll put it back when I’m done.”</p><p>He could just use it, honestly. Her damaged ribs ache so badly she couldn’t stand if she tried. What's she going to do, roll away? But at least he’s being nice about it.</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>He takes the weapon and dials the power level down and fires it at the little pile of fuel he’s built, and sure enough, she sees a soft glow beginning. He sets the phaser down, leans close, and blows on it gently, coaxing in enough air to feed the flickering little flames.</p><p>After watching for a moment—the flames flicker and snap brightly, and Kathryn can already feel the haze of slight warmth growing—he settles back in his heels, satisfied, and turns to pick up the weapon. He sets it on the ground away from both of them, barrel down, fingers nowhere near the trigger. Safely. Just like they were taught at the academy. </p><p>He has effectively disarmed himself. Voluntarily.</p><p>She spent days poring over his records, talking to people who knew him, learning everything she could about this man in order to find him. She’d assumed her work was successful. After all, she found him, didn’t she?</p><p>And now he’s here, and she can’t help but think she doesn’t know anything about him at all.</p><hr/><p>By the time night falls, the temperature has dipped pretty drastically. Chakotay builds up the fire more, stacking all the dry wood he can find along the cave wall. The flat stones he found have warmed up nicely in the coals, and he pushes them out of the flames and settles them around the captain’s slight form, keeping one tucked close to her feet.</p><p>Despite all his efforts, though, he can see her shivering. She’s still got his jacket over her like a blanket, but it’s not much. She hasn’t said anything, but so far, he’s gotten the impression that she’s bound and determined not to show weakness around him. Which is really something, considering the amount of blood he already knows she’s lost.</p><p>She doesn’t seem to trust him. All things considered, he can’t blame her.</p><p>“Are you cold?”</p><p>She nods wordlessly. In the firelight, it’s hard to see for certain, but he thinks she’s still very pale, and he can see tension in her shoulders.</p><p>“Give me your hands,” he says.</p><p>There’s a long moment of stillness. He can see the uncertainty in her eyes. But finally, she takes a breath and reaches out, letting him clasp her thin hands in his.</p><p>Her hands are small in his, her fingers slender, and her skin is slightly cool to the touch. He curls his fingers around her palms, rubbing gently, trying to get the blood circulating.</p><p>The nighttime quiet has fallen around them, just the crackling of the fire and low hum of the breeze. Her eyes are locked on him, and he suddenly finds himself idly wondering what she’s really thinking.</p><p>“Better?”</p><p>“Yes.” Her voice is soft. “Thank you.”</p><p>It must be hard for her to accept all of this. She doesn’t strike him as a woman accustomed to being helpless. </p><p>But she doesn’t pull her hands away from his.</p><p>He’s not sure what to make of it himself. So he just focuses on her hands, on the flickering firelight. On figuring out what to do.</p><p>Her voice, when she speaks, is soft. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>It feels oddly intimate, like pillow talk. But he has a feeling she’s trying to distract herself from the pain. </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Why did you leave Starfleet?” </p><p>She was sent to capture him; there’s no way she hasn’t reviewed his entire personnel file.</p><p>“I’m guessing you read my resignation letter.”</p><p>“I did. But I want to hear the whole story. The way you tell it.”</p><p>He’s not stupid. He’s had command training, just like she has. And he knows that in a situation of personal or tactical vulnerability, it’s in a captain’s best interest to establish rapport with the opposing party. </p><p>But Chakotay has learned to trust his instincts, and right now, his instinct tells him, without a doubt, that she’s asking him for the real answer. There’s no tactic here.</p><p>She just wants to know the truth.</p><p>“I’m sure you’ve heard about the skirmishes in the Demilitarized Zone.” Of course she has. “A lot of Starfleet seems to forget that there are actual people who live there. Those ‘minor skirmishes’ are unprovoked Cardassian attacks. I spent long enough watching the Federation give away people’s homes to pacify war criminals. I’m sure on Earth, it seems like a reasonable idea. But to us? Those are people’s <em>homes</em>. People’s lives. How many Bajorans do the Cardassians have to massacre before the Federation stops giving them things?”</p><p>She lets out a soft breath. “You’re certainly not the only one who felt that way.”</p><p>“With all due respect, Captain, all the feelings in the galaxy don’t matter when the Cardassians decide they want something.”</p><p>The captain seems to process that slowly, her eyes still fixed on him. “Your file said you’re from Dorvan, right?”</p><p>“You know what happened there?” he asks, and she nods. “My home is gone. The Cardassians—” he draws a sharp breath, trying to control the anger he’s felt for so long as it simmers and threatens to boil up again—“It’s what they always do. They say it’s peaceful, they make promises. And without fail, those promises mean absolutely nothing. They just march in and start shooting whenever it suits them. <em>That’s</em> what happened on Dorvan.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“What the hell do you care?” </p><p>It comes out harsher than he’d intended, and he can see the surprise on her face, the way she flinches. </p><p>She finally speaks, her voice softer, a little more hesitant. “You think I don’t know what they can do?”</p><p>There’s a long moment of silence, but he decides to push.</p><p>“How?”</p><p>He can see it on her face: he’s asking a lot. But didn’t she ask him for his side of the story? It’s only fair that she share, too.</p><p>“I was captured once.” She swallows. “Years ago. I was an ensign.”</p><p>It’s a story he might have expected, but he still hates hearing the words. “What happened?”</p><p>“I wasn’t there for long. A team of Rangers came in, got me out before anyone touched me. But my commanding officer was captured, too. And I could hear him screaming.”</p><p>Chakotay feels a chill go through him. He knows what Cardassians are capable of doing to a pretty young woman unfortunate enough to end up in their hands.</p><p>She got very, very lucky. </p><p>“Starfleet—” He starts, then pauses. But she asked for the truth, didn’t she? “I finally realized that there was no way to justify it. I couldn’t remain in Starfleet, watching them cede more and more to the mass murderers who attacked my home. I couldn’t stand back and let it happen again, on another dozen worlds. If there was any chance for me to stop that devastation happening somewhere else, it was with the Maquis.”</p><p>When she speaks, her voice is low. “I can understand that.”</p><p>“When I was a boy, my father spent a long time teaching me about the importance of community. Family. Loyalty.” He smiles sadly. “I just wish I’d appreciated his wisdom while he was still alive.”</p><p>“What happened to him?”</p><p>“He was killed defending the colony on Dorvan. We hadn’t really spoken since I left for the Academy. I’ve always regretted that,” he admits. “I wish I’d gotten the chance to say goodbye.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry.”</p><p>He nods. “So am I.” </p><p>“We always think we have all the time in the world,” she murmurs, like she’s just thinking out loud. “But we never do. We don’t get a warning.”</p><p>He knows the voice of experience when he hears it. “Did you lose your father?” She nods. “What happened?” </p><p>She pauses for a long moment, and he realizes just how much he’s asking her. “If - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t -”</p><p>“No, it’s all right.” She takes a deep breath, as if she’s steeling herself. “He was in Starfleet, too. There was an accident.”</p><p>He doesn’t want to push. So he waits. </p><p>“I was on assignment with him and my fiancé.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “We crashed. I got out, but by the time I tried to beam them both to safety, it was too late. They both died there, on Tau Ceti Prime.”</p><p>“Tau Ceti Prime?” He thinks for a moment. “Your father. Was he an admiral?” </p><p>Her eyes go wide. “He—yes, a vice admiral.” </p><p>“I heard about that.” </p><p>He remembers the news—a shuttle prototype, a terrible crash, crash, three Starfleet officers involved. One of them an admiral. Only one survivor. </p><p>He hadn’t realized the survivor had lost her father and her fiancé in one moment.</p><p>There are tears in her eyes, glittering in the firelight. Everything is so raw right now, so jagged and worn and desperate. It probably isn’t his place to be comforting this woman, but there’s no one else here, is there? And he’s the one who asked.</p><p>So he settles for rubbing his thumb gently over her knuckles, slow and careful.</p><p>Little wonder she reveres Starfleet so much, he thinks. She followed her father’s example, just like he eventually learned to follow his own father’s.</p><p>He finally, reluctantly lets her hand go, and tugs the jacket higher to cover her shoulders. “I’m going to go grab more wood, all right? You should try and get some sleep.”</p><p>“All right.” She nods very slowly. “Please don’t escape.”</p><p>How the hell does she manage to have a sense of humor right now? </p><p>“Don’t worry. You’re stuck with me, Captain.”</p><p>“Kathryn.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“My name.” She smiles wryly, though it’s a little pained. “At this point, I think we can let a few formalities go.”</p><p>“Kathryn.” He’s a little surprised, but decides, well, it’s her call. “I’ll give it a try.”</p><p>He sets a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, before letting go and heading off into the night.</p><hr/><p>By the time he comes back, a huge load of sticks and twigs in his arms, Chakotay feels a little less off-balance. There was something in the moment, something that made him feel undone. He never expected to sit in the firelight and bare his soul to the woman who captured him.</p><p>He certainly never expected her to <em>listen</em>.</p><p>He walks into the cave to find her eyes closed, her breathing relaxed. She doesn’t move as he stacks the wood carefully along the cave wall. He’s not surprised; he can only imagine how physically exhausted she is, how much her body has gone through in the space of a day.</p><p>Chakotay settles on the stone floor beside her, lying back gingerly. He’s close enough to feel her breathing, but careful not to press on her ribs. She lets out a soft noise, but her eyes don’t open. </p><p>Remarkable, he thinks. She seemed larger than life the moment she captured his ship, but right now, curled up beside her in a chilly cave on a barren planet, he realizes just how small she is. His body dwarfs hers.</p><p>As overworked as his mind has been today, his limbs are desperate for rest, and it’s not long before he can feel himself dozing off.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chakotay doesn’t sleep well that night.</p><p>He didn’t expect to. He’s exhausted, sure, but he’s also cold, hungry, thirsty, sore, and he has a fire to keep an eye on, not to mention a crew back in Starfleet custody he’s worried about. Between the fire, and the slow, shaky breathing of the woman beside him, he’s got plenty occupying his attention.</p><p>Sleep is an afterthought.</p><hr/><p>He wakes to the sound of soft rain outside. It’s still chilly, but the wind seems to have died down for now.</p><p>He sets out the tray he snagged from the shuttle and watches the rain fill it, slow and steady. Water - check. Food - his next plan is to climb into the shuttle wreckage and look for rations, so he gives himself tentative credit. Shelter - good. Fire - thankfully, he brought in enough wood that they’ll be fine for a while.</p><p>She’s still asleep, so he checks her pulse carefully, sets a few more sticks on the fire, and heads back out into the misty cool rain.</p><hr/><p>By the time he returns from the shuttle, a few ration packs in hand, the morning is lighter. The sky is still heavy with clouds, but at least he can see more clearly.</p><p>Inside their little cave, he finds the captain—<em>Kathryn</em>, he reminds himself—just starting to stir. Her eyes are still closed, so he pauses at the mouth of the cave, letting himself watch. Now, in the morning light, he can see that she’s paler than she was yesterday. Even as she flinches, and her eyes open, her movements have taken on a sluggish quality. </p><p>It’s not much, but it sets his nerves on edge and makes his stomach twist as he remembers that all the ration packs in the world can’t change the fact that she’s dying.</p><p>Her eyelashes finally flutter open, and she looks around, dazed. He shakes himself out of his reverie. <em>Get it together. She doesn’t need someone to sit around and worry, does she?</em></p><p>He crosses to settle on the ground beside her, and he doesn’t miss the way her face relaxes as she sees him.</p><p>“Good morning. How are you feeling?” he attempts, and the slight curl of her lips tells him she appreciates his effort at normalcy.</p><p>“Grand.” He lifts her head very carefully, just enough to sip the water he holds to her lips. “How’s my favorite prisoner?”</p><p>“Still thoroughly captured.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it.”</p><p>In a different situation, he’s fairly certain, they’d be friends. </p><p>He digs out a ration pack and tears open the top, peering inside. For the first time he can remember, Starfleet ration food looks delicious. He’s not really sure what it is. But he’s famished.</p><p>“I found food.” He pulls out the waxy beige ration bar and looks down at her. “You need to eat.”</p><p>She makes a face and turns away. “I’m not hungry.”</p><p>“Captain—”</p><p>“I don’t think I could keep it down,” she manages, her face still pinched.</p><p><em>“Kathryn.”</em> He settles back on his heels, waiting until she meets his eyes. “Your body has gone through a lot. And all the courage in the world doesn’t change the fact that you’re very weak right now.”</p><p>She’s glaring at him. And even like this, lying on the floor, ghastly pale, she manages to look fairly intimidating. “You think my intercostal muscles can handle vomiting?”</p><p>Okay. That’s a good point. Throwing up might actually hurt her. But he’s still worried.</p><p>“Just a few bites? Please?”</p><p>He fixes her with his most winning look, and finally she sighs. “I’ll try.”</p><hr/><p>After she worries down two small bites of the ration bar and tells him to take the rest, she dozes off again.</p><p>It’s not like there’s anything for her to do, so he tells himself it’s fine. But she could stay awake longer yesterday.</p><p>He doesn’t want to wake her, but he does peer at her side, at the stone floor beneath her. The bloodstain doesn’t seem to have grown. At least, he doesn’t think it has, but without moving her, he can’t be sure. </p><p>As she sleeps, he takes stock of the food they have, sets out the container for more rainwater, and steps outside the cave to look at the closest plants. They’re not in the direst circumstances just yet, but in a pinch, there are a few that look edible, although without a tricorder, he can’t be certain.</p><p>Hopefully they’ll be off this planet long before he has to start guessing.</p><hr/><p>Later on, Chakotay climbs up the rocky bluff, surveys what he can through the misty, foggy landscape. Nothing. It’s just a whole planet of grey rocky and scrubby brush. He sees a few small fuzzy mammals scurry off when he approaches, and hears soft keening sounds like birdcalls in the distance, but there’s no one here but them. Just him, Kathryn, a dead pilot, a wrecked shuttle, and the steady, silent blinking of a distress signal.</p><hr/><p>He makes sure not to wander far; he’s back in the little cave soon, and he’s chewing a ration bar when her eyes open.</p><p>He brushes his hands on his trousers. “Kathryn?”</p><p>She blinks at him a little dazedly. “You’re still here?”</p><p>That’s not a question he was expecting. “Where else would I be?”</p><p>She doesn’t answer, just blinks, looking up at him for a long moment, and finally she lets out a long breath. “Your clothes are damp.”</p><p>He looks down at himself. “It’s raining a little. Not as hard as it was, though.” She has that far-off look on her face again. “What are you thinking about?”</p><p>“The Academy.” She smiles faintly. “The rain in San Francisco. This reminds me of it.”</p><p>“I can see that.” The cool, wet winters there had a charm to them, he remembers. How many times did he find himself wrapped up, out for a walk, feeling the misty air, damp on his face? He’d learned to enjoy the rain there. It had a freshness to it. </p><p>Her face looks relaxed; this is a route of pleasant memories for her. If her father was Starfleet, too, she probably grew up knowing San Francisco quite well. “What else do you remember about the city?”</p><p>Her face lights up. “Plenty. The Embarcadero, the museums. And, of course, the Night Owl.”</p><p>“The Night Owl?”</p><p>“My favorite coffee shop.” She pauses to suck in a slow breath. “So many late nights studying there.”</p><p>Oh, he can see it. Clear as a bell. He can see young Kathryn the bright-eyed cadet, serious and focused, curled up on a comfy, cushy chair, sipping coffee as she ponders the governing laws of the universe she fully intended to explore.</p><p>“I think I remember that place. On Market Street, right? Near the Tenderloin?”</p><p>Her eyes brighten in surprise. “Exactly.”</p><p>“I trained at a gym across the street,” he explains, and the look of delight on her face is a relief. “To be honest, I don’t care much for coffee—”</p><p>“—you <em>what?”</em></p><p>“—and I only started drinking it because I wanted to impress a cute waitress who worked there.”</p><p>Her lips curl into a little smile. “Did it work?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Chakotay smiles ruefully. “Never got up the nerve to talk to her.”</p><p>She blinks drowsily. “Her loss.”</p><p>That makes him chuckle, even as he feels a soft tendril of warmth in his heart. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”</p><p>“I’ll be sure to let her know, next time I’m there,” she says with that crooked little smile of hers. He likes it. He can still see the lines of pain on her face, but that smile makes her look positively charming. “I wonder if you and I ever crossed paths.” </p><p>“I doubt it.” She raises an eyebrow, and he gives her a little grin. “I think I would’ve remembered you.”</p><p>Her soft smile turns a little shy, and she turns her face away, but for just a moment, Chakotay could swear that there’s something good happening in this miserable little corner of the galaxy.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he climbs up the rock face to check the beacon again, squinting against the scouring winds, it's still flashing. He lets out a breath. There's one thing that's going right, at least, that steady little light. It's not much, but it's something. The rain has stopped, although the skies are still heavy and grey. The wind is still blustery, cutting through his shirt.</p><p>He climbs back down, scrambling through the scrubby brush, to find his companion right where he left her. It looks like she's dozed off again. He's kept his jacket on her like a blanket since they ended up here; she needs the warmth more than he does.</p><p>She must hear the crunch of stones under his boots; her eyes flutter open, and her head turns very slightly, just enough that she look squarely at him.</p><p>"<em>Chakotay</em>," she breathes, and he's at her side in an instant.</p><p>Her skin has taken on a sickly pallor, greyish, and her breathing is slow. He kneels beside her, careful not to touch her bruised body.</p><p>Despite the lingering chill in the air, she's not shivering anymore.</p><p>He remembers, distantly, extreme survival training back at Starfleet Academy. <em>Shivering is a good sign; that's your body trying to keep warm. When it stops, your body's shutting down</em>. The cold wouldn't be an issue if she weren't so badly hurt. To him, it's just uncomfortable. But as it is, she's in rough shape.</p><p>He feels her forehead, brushes back a strand of hair that's stuck to her temple. Her face is smooth. Damp. Warmer than it should be, given the chill. He takes her hands in his, and he feels a tiny amount of relief as she threads her fingers between his own.</p><p>"You look worried," she breathes.</p><p>"Don't mind me." He forces himself to smile. "I'm just grumpy."</p><p>"Hey." She squeezes his hand weakly. "You didn't let me downplay anything. Tell me the truth."</p><p>"The truth?"</p><p>"Please."</p><p>"Well, the good news is, the beacon seems to be working. I've checked it several times, and it hasn't stopped transmitting."</p><p>"<em>Chakotay</em>."</p><p>Chakotay finally meets her eyes, and it <em>hurts</em>. Her gaze is so frank, her eyes so clear.</p><p>"The bad news—" he falters for a moment, but forces himself to spit out the words "—the bad news is that you're not doing well."</p><p>"The <em>truth</em>," she insists, flexing her fingers around his hand, and he finally just can't hold it back anymore.</p><p>"You've lost a lot of blood. It feels like you might have a fever, which means infection, although I don't know if it's your chest or your knee or your ankle. Your leg is a mess. You probably have a mild concussion, you're dehydrated, and I can't tell exactly how bad your internal injuries are, but your ribs are damaged, and your breathing—"</p><p>His voice breaks, and he gives up. Her eyes go wide, and she seems to catch her breath for a moment before speaking. "Oh, is that all?"</p><p>He'd laugh, but right now he feels more like crying.</p><p>"I don't know how to help you," he confesses. "I just—I don't know what else to do."</p><p>"You said—" she pauses to take a shaky breath again "—you said the beacon is working, though. So there's still time."</p><p><em>Not much</em>.</p><p>"They're not here." He's frustrated. "I don't understand. They should <em>be</em> here by now!"</p><p>"'They?' You mean—a ship?"</p><p>"Starfleet!" He wants to break something. "Absolutely <em>useless</em>. Abandoned us, abandoned the colonies, now they're abandoning you."</p><p>"You called Starfleet?" She sounds surprised.</p><p>"Of course I did."</p><p>"Not the Maquis?"</p><p>He blinks for a long moment, looking down at her pale, curious face, and then he realizes what she's saying.</p><p>She thought—</p><p>"You need a real doctor."</p><p>She needs surgery. She needs medical attention they can't give her in the ramshackle, out-of-the-way Maquis encampments.</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"I'm not going to sacrifice your life just to get away," he tells her firmly. This <em>stubborn</em> woman. "Why are you trying to get rid of me?"</p><p>"You don't have to be here when they arrive."</p><p><em>Will you be?</em> is on the tip of his tongue, but he can't bring himself to say the words. He can't.</p><p>It's a reality he's still not willing to face. So he pushes it away.</p><p>"You let me worry about that, okay?"</p><p>Her eyes are fluttering shut again, her breathing getting slow. He's beginning to think the only way to win an argument with this woman is for her to pass out. It would be endearing if he weren't starting to wonder how much longer he can depend on her waking up.</p><p>He scoots as close to her as he can without leaning against her bruised, battered torso. Hopefully she's getting a little bit of warmth from him. Or maybe he can just block the wind.</p><p>He shuts his eyes.</p><p><em>Just a little while</em>, he promises himself. <em>It's going to be okay.</em></p><hr/><p>He wakes from an exhausted drowse and immediately turns towards the woman beside him. She's still asleep. The fading light casts soft shadows over her face. In between the pop and crackle of the fire, he just barely hear it: the faint, agonizing rattle as she breathes.</p><p>Chakotay busies himself with the fire, checking for the driest wood, stacking it carefully to let oxygen feed the flickering flames. He rips off a scrap from the bottom of his shirt to help it out and watches the fire eat through the kindling, slowly catching the larger pieces. It's not a big fire, but it's better than nothing. He's been cycling the flat stones, keeping a few in the fire, so he can switch them out when the ones around the captain cool off.</p><p>He hears a sharp breath, and turns to find her opening her eyes slowly. It seems to take her an eternity to turn her head towards the flickering firelight, he thinks. Like she's slipping out of time, like her body is simply slowing until it finally stops.</p><p>He shivers a little, despite the fire.</p><p>"Chakotay."</p><p>Her voice is low, wispy, but calm. Her face is serene. With the golden firelight flickering over her pale skin, she looks soft. Angelic.</p><p>Deeply, tragically lovely.</p><p>"Hi." He kneels beside her, brushing her soft hair from her face, reaching for her throat to feel for her pulse. "You're awake."</p><p>"You should go."</p><p>The last syllable escapes in a puff of air, and for a moment, he's not sure he heard her correctly.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Go." Her voice is papery. Brittle. "Nothing you can do."</p><p>The words sting more than they should.</p><p>Because she's right.</p><p>"Letting a terrorist escape is treason, Captain." Maybe her rank will refocus her. "I'm going to have to turn you in."</p><p>He should have known better.</p><p>"I'm ordering you," she whispers. "Go."</p><p>"I don't have to follow your orders." Why doesn't she understand this? "I'm not leaving you."</p><p>"I won't be awake much longer." She draws in a slow, raspy breath. "It's all right."</p><p>"No, Kathryn—"</p><p>"I won't even know," she whispers gently.</p><p>He's crying, he realizes distantly, tears escaping him on their own. Because she's not angry about this, but he is. He's so angry, so hopelessly, uselessly enraged at this barren rock and their ruined shuttle and Starfleet, fucking <em>Starfleet</em> that can't even save this one single person who needs help.</p><p>She doesn't deserve this.</p><p>"I'm <em>not leaving you</em>," he insists, squeezing her hands, probably too tightly. "You can't get rid of me that easily. You captured me, remember?"</p><p>Her fingers curl weakly around his. "Someone should get out of here," she says, pausing to suck in a slow, painful breath. "And it's not going to be me."</p><p>"Don't talk like that. Don't you dare. You're going home, remember? You've got someone to go back to." She mentioned a fiancé, he remembers. What was his name? "And you're going to tell him all about this."</p><p>Her eyes flicker, like she's trying to hang on just a few seconds longer, before shutting completely. Her breathing slows, her hand goes limp in his, and he feels the moment she becomes dead weight.</p><p>No. No, no no no.</p><p>"Kathryn?"</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>He brushes a hand over her cheek. <em>"Kathryn."</em></p><p>She doesn't move, doesn't react. She's out. She's not coming back. She's not going to wake up. It's just a matter of time now.</p><p>She followed her father into Starfleet. And just like him, she's going to die in uniform.</p><p>There's no way he's going to leave her here to die alone on this rock, waiting for the help that he couldn't give her.</p><p>His heart—tired, worn, cynical—is cracking into pieces. It's pain he hasn't felt in a long time, not since he last let himself feel close to anyone.</p><p>This is how it <em>would</em> go, isn't it? It's a horrible, cosmic joke. He finally meets a Starfleet officer who's honest and straightforward, someone he thinks maybe he could understand, someone he respects, and she's about to die right here in front of him. He can rage at the universe all he wants, but he's no better than Starfleet. He's failed her just as badly.</p><p>Just for once in his life, he wants to care about someone who isn't ripped away from him. Is that so much to ask?</p><p>He stretches out on the stone floor beside her, taking her cold hands in his, and he does the only thing left to him.</p><p>He prays.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Extra-special thanks to mylittleredgirl, whose wealth of DS9 knowledge was immensely helpful in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s still lying beside her in the cool grey morning light, his hands clasping hers, when he hears it. Muffled, far-off. But he knows that sound.</p><p>Engines.</p><p>Chakotay sits up abruptly, his heart pounding. That’s a Starfleet runabout. And it’s landing nearby.</p><p>He lays her hands gently back on her chest and checks her pulse: faint, thready, but still there. He touches her cheek, whispers <em>Kathryn</em>, but nothing. She doesn’t move.</p><p>He hears a shout from nearby—hard to hear over the wind, but he hears <em>Captain Janeway</em>, and then a few seconds later, <em>Please respond.</em></p><p>Satisfied that she’s at least no worse than she was a moment ago, Chakotay pushes unsteadily onto his feet, grimacing at the soreness in his legs, and stumbles to the mouth of the cave, looking for—there they are, working their way down the rocky face of the mountainside. </p><p>He’s never been happier to see Starfleet uniforms.</p><p>“Here!” His voice cracks. “We’re here. Please, she needs help.”</p><p>“We’re on our way. Stay where you are.”</p><p>“Acknowledged.”</p><p>It feels like an eternity, but it’s probably no more than a minute. Chakotay keeps his hands in sight; the phaser is sitting at the mouth of the cave, and the security team immediately grabs it, two of them moving checking the edges of the save, one still in the mouth of the cave, watching him closely. He doesn’t make any sudden movements, just sinks to his knees as he tells them, “The pilot died on impact. The captain’s hurt.”</p><p>He barely registers the security officers keeping their phasers ready; his attention is fixed on Kathryn, watching desperately as the medical team checks her over, pulling aside the jacket to examine the bandage, scanning her with tricorders.</p><p>“You did this?” One of the doctors looks up at him.</p><p>He nods. His voice won’t work.</p><p>“All right.” The doctor hits his combadge. “Prepare for emergency medical transport. Contact the station, tell them to have the surgical bay ready.”</p>
<hr/><p>In the grand scheme of things, his holding cell on Deep Space Nine is pretty comfortable.</p><p>Not that Chakotay’s worried about his own comfort.</p><p>He’s been here since they were rescued. Apart from a brief face-to-face meeting with the security team and a quick medical check to heal the handful of minor cuts and abrasions he sustained in the crash, he’s been left alone. He’s asked the Bajoran guards what’s going on, but they’ve just told him they don’t know any more than he does. They’ve been civil to him, but they’re not chatty.</p>
<hr/><p>He hasn’t been in his cell long when he gets a visitor.</p><p>Bajoran uniform and badge, but he’s not Bajoran. Chakotay doesn’t recognize the man’s species. He’s bipedal, humanoid, roughly the same height and build as a human; slicked-back hair; smooth, almost waxy-looking skin; keen eyes.</p><p>“So you’re the Maquis captain who...saved the Starfleet captain?” The man cocks his head. “An odd way to be a rebel.”</p><p>Chakotay’s not entirely sure how to respond to that.</p><p>“My name is Odo,” the man continues, nonplussed. “I’m the chief of security here.”</p><p>“I’m Chakotay.”</p><p>“I know. I read your file.”</p><p>Species: unknown; sense of humor: dry.</p><p>“You’re not Starfleet.”</p><p>“No, I’m not.” Odo gives him a small smile. “But neither are you.”</p><p>Chakotay’s still a little off-balance, but the security chief doesn’t seem bothered as he continues,  “The station commander thought you would want to know: we got a message from headquarters on Earth. The crew of the <em>Val Jean</em> is in custody. All accounted for.”</p><p>Chakotay nods slowly. “Thank you for telling me.” It’s bittersweet. He never wanted this for his crew, but at least he knows they’re safe.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s been hours since that message, although how many, he doesn’t know. He’s warm, he’s comfortable, he’s well-fed, and yet he’s more anxious than he’s been since he dragged a Starfleet captain out of the wreckage of a shuttle.</p><p>Eventually, the doctor appears, nodding to the guards as he walks up to the cell. “Mister Chakotay? I’m Doctor Bashir.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you.” </p><p>“I wanted to come thank you in person for all you did.” The doctor smiles tiredly. “It was touch and go for a while, but Captain Janeway pulled through. She’s going to be fine.”</p><p>Chakotay lets out a long breath. It feels like the first time he’s breathed in days. “Is she awake?”</p><p>“Not yet, but she will be soon.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“You saved her life, you know. She never would have survived without you.” Bashir pauses, looking him over curiously. Like he’s trying to decide something. “Had you met her before?”</p><p>Chakotay shakes his head. “The first time I saw her was when she hailed my ship and told me to surrender peacefully.”</p><p>“And you did?”</p><p>He shrugs. “We couldn’t outrun them, and we were never going to win a fight.”</p><p>“Not all Maquis would have surrendered.”</p><p>“Not all Maquis would have fought. And I had a crew to protect.”</p><p>The doctor smiles at that. “Fair enough.” </p><p>Bashir seems friendly enough, so Chakotay decides to take a chance. “Can I ask you a favor?”</p><p>“That depends on the favor.”</p><p>“Can I see her?”</p><p>After a moment’s consideration, Bashir nods slowly. “I’ll speak with Odo. You’re the reason she’s alive, after all.”</p>
<hr/><p>When Kathryn opens her eyes, she sees lights. </p><p>“Captain Janeway? How are you feeling?”</p><p>The voice is unfamiliar, as is the face she sees leaning over her. He’s a dark-haired Starfleet doctor, watching her with bright eyes and a cheerful smile.</p><p>She swallows slowly. “All right. I think.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it.”</p><p>Kathryn takes a deep breath. Her body feels heavy, her limbs thick and confused, but the pain has melted away, leaving just a dull warmth blooming through her chest. “Where am I?”</p><p>“Deep Space Nine.”</p><p>Of course. DS9 would have received the distress signal, and they have plenty of small craft to send on a rescue mission. “How long have I been here?”</p><p>“Almost two days.” He folds his arms. “You were in rough shape. It’s a good thing you weren’t alone.”</p><p>It takes a moment for her to process what he’s saying, but then she sees: the doctor’s not looking at her. He’s looking across the sickbay. And when she turns to follow his gaze—</p><p>She has to catch her breath.</p><p>Chakotay’s standing there, looking at her with an expression on his face she can’t quite understand.  </p><p>He looks good. He’s clean, he looks healthy, his muddy clothes now exchanged for a simple grey jumpsuit. </p><p>She tries to speak, but no words come out. </p><p>He hesitates for a moment, but crosses the room to her bed. Kathryn doesn’t even realize she’s reached for his hand until she feels his fingers twine between hers; it’s sheer instinct, and the warmth of his hand is as comforting here as it was in that chilly, dark little cave.</p><p>Chakotay smiles. “Captain.”</p><p>It takes her a long moment to speak. “You didn’t leave.”</p><p>It’s not really a question, but he answers it anyway. “No, I didn’t.”</p><p>“I told you to.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>His voice is perfectly even. And that’s when her mind catches up: the jumpsuit. The man in the tan uniform, scanning the room and both of them with watchful eyes.</p><p>Her eyes blur with tears, and she has to tighten her jaw to keep herself calm. “You’re back in custody, aren’t you?”</p><p>He flashes a smile at that, his dimples as charming as ever. “Are you kidding? There’s a bed, it’s warm, and I get hot food and plenty of water. It feels like a vacation.”</p><p>She lets out a sharp laugh that doesn’t feel very mirthful. Her mind feels slow right now; she’s stumbling, and she’s dizzy with a hundred thousand thoughts she doesn’t know how to put into words. She has so much to say to him, she doesn’t know where to start.</p><p>She squeezes his hand absently, and he returns the pressure, gentle and reassuring. “I’m very glad you’re all right, Captain.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she whispers. It feels like such a pale thing, but what else can she possibly say? “For everything.”</p><p>He smiles at her then, a real, beaming smile. And for the first time in days, Kathryn feels warm.</p>
<hr/><p>Odo grumbles a little, but in the end he lets Chakotay stay beside Kathryn’s bed until she falls asleep again.</p><p>The two of them walk back through the station towards the brig. Chakotay’s still trying to figure out this security chief. Odo isn’t what he’d expected. He’s physically unimposing, but he’s been perfectly calm as Chakotay’s only security escort. Chakotay knows quiet strength when he sees it.</p><p>As he and Odo walk back into the brig, the station commander joins them. “Mister Chakotay? Commander Sisko.”</p><p>“Sir.” Chakotay knows Sisko by reputation; Cal Hudson, the Starfleet representative to the DMZ colonies, has always spoken well of him. Sisko is not a wild fan of the Maquis—he’s had friends abandon Starfleet to join, and he’s taken it personally—but his leadership on DS9 has been overwhelmingly positive, especially his connection to Bajor. He’s a just man. A principled commander.</p><p>“You’ll be on a transport ship back to Earth soon. I believe they’re docking here in the next twenty-six hours. We don’t have a scheduled departure just yet, but it’ll be soon after.”</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>The commander nods. He’s clearly thinking about something. “Mister Chakotay, may I ask you a question?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Why did you let yourself be captured?”</p><p>“I couldn’t leave her.” The answer seems obvious. How could he have lived with himself?</p><p>“I’ve read the security team’s report,” Sisko says, “and Doctor Bashir has said, without any doubt, she would have died without the care you gave her. But even so, you could have escaped before the security team reached you.”  </p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“So why didn’t you?”</p><p>Chakotay stares the man in the eye, and finally tells him, “I’m still not sure I have an answer.”</p>
<hr/><p>By the time Kathryn’s strong enough to leave sickbay, Chakotay’s gone. He was put on a transport back to Earth; he’ll be taken into proper custody and held until his trial. </p><p>She was hoping they’d let him say goodbye.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>six months later</em>
</p><p>The next time he sees her, they're on Earth. He's sitting at a defendant's table in a sunny courtroom at the tribunal halls.</p><p>All things considered, things could be going much worse.</p><p>His counsel is Lieutenant Nedelcu, a smart, confident young officer who argues his case fairly and keeps him updated on her defense strategy for him. She's already presented several character witnesses, all of whom assert that he's an honorable person, principled, joined the Maquis for noble reasons, et cetera, et cetera. He's never destroyed a Starfleet ship, and even in the chaos of the Badlands, he avoided violence when he could.</p><p>Chakotay feels less anxious than he thought he might. In fact, he feels quite calm, sitting at the defendant's table in his plain grey jumpsuit. But then, he's had time to accept this. He knew the risk when he joined the Maquis. He knew the consequences. And he decided to accept the chance this might happen one day.</p><p>Lieutenant Nedelcu clears her throat. "The defense calls Captain Kathryn Janeway."</p><p>She walks into the courtroom with serene calm, her uniform pristine, her hair pinned up neatly. She wears authority as easily as she wears her command red.</p><p>Chakotay takes a breath. <em>This</em> is the woman who captured him. The woman who treated him with respect from the moment she put him into the brig. The woman who never panicked, never lost her nerve, and finally told him to save himself, even as she lay slowly dying on a barren planet.</p><p>She presses her hand to the scanner for identification. "Verified: Janeway, Kathryn, Captain," the placid voice of the computer states. "Current assignment: commanding officer of the Federation starship <em>USS Voyager</em>. Two Starfleet Command decorations for valor. Starfleet Astrosciences decoration for scientific research. Cashi Medal. Legion of Honor. Official commendations for courage and excellence. Casaway Prize for Applied Sciences."</p><p><em>She must have started as a science officer</em>, Chakotay realizes, listening to the litany of her decorations.</p><p>"So, Captain Janeway," asks Nedelcu, once the computer has finished listing her accolades, "you're here as a character witness. Could you please explain your connection to Mister Chakotay?"</p><p>"I captured him." Her voice is clear, and he can hear the faint, dry humor. Even the sitting judge looks amused. "As soon as I took his crew into custody, he was fully cooperative. He agreed to help scout a location where we thought there might be a Maquis settlement. Our shuttle crashed. The pilot was killed, and I was wounded. Chakotay pulled me out of the wreckage and set up the distress beacon. We were rescued two days later by a team from Deep Space Nine."</p><p>"So it was just the two of you?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And your injuries were severe, correct?"</p><p>"Yes. I had lost a lot of blood, and I suffered internal injuries. The medical team at the station told me there's no way I would have survived without his help."</p><p>Nedelcu folds her arms. "Very well, Captain. What would you like the tribunal to consider in this case?"</p><p>"He had nothing to gain," she says. "Nothing at all. He didn't have to pull me out of the shuttle wreckage. He didn't have to climb back in and find medical supplies to treat my injuries. But he did. He found dry wood and kindling to build a fire. He collected rainwater to drink. He's the one who set up the distress beacon, and he calibrated it to a Starfleet frequency, not a Maquis one."</p><p>"What are you saying, Captain?"</p><p>She looks at Chakotay for a long moment, and he holds his breath. He can't quite read her expression.</p><p>"I'm saying that he could have escaped. But instead, he saved my life."</p><p>"You sound like you admire him."</p><p>She gives a half-smile at that. "If he were still in Starfleet, we'd be pinning a medal to his chest for what he did."</p><p>"Thank you, Captain." Nedelcu pauses to check her notes. "Is there anything else you're like to say to this panel?"</p><p>"I'm under no delusions. I'm aware of his record, before and after leaving Starfleet." Janeway pauses for a moment. "I simply want his sentence to reflect the full truth of his record. And that includes what he did for me."</p><hr/><p>Chakotay's counsel thanks her, the tribunal judge dismisses her, and Kathryn steps down from the witness stand.</p><p>Nedelcu reached out to her a month ago during trial preparation. Apparently, Chakotay pled 'no contest' to most everything. The only condition he fought for was fair treatment for his crew. His counsel worked hard to find character references; she told Janeway that she believed she could get his prison sentence significantly lightened.</p><p>In her mind, the decision was obvious: of course she was going to testify.</p><p>So Kathryn pulled a few strings, prodded and pulled her schedule, and ended up hitching a ride aboard a tiny, cramped little freighter from Mars. She arrived on Earth twelve hours ago, and she leaves for Deep Space Three tomorrow.</p><p>She catches Chakotay's eye as she passes him, and he smiles at her.</p><p>It's very faint, very slight, just a hint of the corners of his mouth turning up. But his eyes are clear, and it's the same gentleness she remembers. It's the same man who put his jacket over her to keep her warm, who held her cold, stiff hands in his and pleaded with her not to die.</p><p>He's sitting in his own trial in a prison jumpsuit, knowing his freedom is gone, but she can see, plain as day: he's a man at peace.</p><hr/><p>The penal colony in New Zealand isn't so bad.</p><p>Chakotay's been here for two months. The labor is tough, but he's accustomed to physical work, and he appreciates the beauty of the land around him. The sea, the fresh air, the trees, mountains in the distance. In another life, he thinks, he'd love to spend months here, hiking into the mountains, getting lost in the thick, dark forests, the moss-covered rocks and scouring winds.</p><p>After another long day, he climbs back into his bunk to rest for a few minutes before dinner. He's only just closed his eyes, though, when the padd next to his bed chirps with an incoming message.</p><p>It <em>could</em> just be tomorrow's work assignment, so for a few minutes he ignores it, but Chakotay finally sighs, sitting up and keying in his code.</p><p>It's not a work assignment. It's a personal message.</p><p>From <em>Janeway, Capt. K.</em></p><p>
  <em>Hello, Chakotay. I'm not entirely sure if you want to hear from me, but I wished we could have talked after your trial, so I thought it was a good idea to write.</em>
</p><p>His heart stops in his chest.</p><p>
  <em>Now that I'm writing, though, I don't seem to have much to say. I've been thinking about you. Hoping you're well.</em>
</p><p>It's not a long message, he sees. Not a lot of small talk. But then at the end, he sees a string of digits and letters. He knows that pattern.</p><p>It's a personal message routing number.</p><p>
  <em>If you want to keep in touch, I'd like to hear how you're doing. I'm moving between ships for a while, so this code will make sure messages get sent to me. Please don't feel obliged.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'll never be able to thank you enough for all you did. And I'll certainly never forget it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Kathryn</em>
</p>
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